


Cool and composed before a million anywheres

by orphan_account



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, brief Bushi cameo, respect your belt love your belt, technically Kenneth is mostly a mention but do not worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s… convenient, more than it is anything else, really. He knows Naito doesn’t love him. He certainly doesn’t love Naito. There’s an understanding between them, an easy wordless communication. It’s a means to an end, much like their friendship.It’s always been like this.





	Cool and composed before a million anywheres

Naito fucks him with the belt still on. It’s heavy, the metal warmed by his body heat. Kota doesn’t think about the sweat soaking into its leather, doesn’t think about how this is any different from strapping the belt on still in the ring, sweat-wet and victorious and exhausted.

It’s… convenient, more than it is anything else, really. He knows Naito doesn’t love him. He certainly doesn’t love Naito. There’s an understanding between them, an easy wordless communication. It’s a means to an end, much like their friendship.

 

It’s always been like this.

 

* * *

 

 

  Kota had been happy, in DDT. But the way Kenny had put it, there had always been an undercurrent of change thrumming through his veins. That Kota was like a shark, beautiful and dangerous, with sharp enough edges that would cut through you if you weren’t careful. But deeper than that, there was the need to keep moving and never stay stagnant for too long.

For all its eccentricity, DDT had become stagnant.

The company had been the one that pushed them together, two young faces for the crowd to adore and dote upon. Even their gear matched, as did the in-ring titles people would call them by. Stardust Genius and the Golden Star. It had been simple, to fall into an easy companionship, to go out for beers after a successful match. To go out for beers to cheer Naito up when the cheers for Stardust Genius had faded in volume.

It had been simple, to kiss Naito until his jaw would unclench, the dark look in his eyes shift to a different kind of darkness, the kind that made the wild streak in Kota chase after it with excitement.

 

“I’m not into guys,” Naito told him, after Kota had crowded him into a corner and shoved his tongue down his throat. He could feel Naito’s cock through his gear, his breath hot on Kota’s face. They were both panting, both hard. It could be simple.  Kota smiled, dimples and all, and raised his eyebrows.

 

“Yeah, sure. Can I still suck you off?”

 

He knew he had an attractive mouth, knew the way people stared at his lips, thinking what it would be like to slide their cocks into that inviting warmth. Naito was no different.

 

They hadn’t won their match, but Kota still counted it a victory when the grip of Naito’s hands on his shoulders tightened and he guided Kota down on his knees.  

 

* * *

 

 

It had been simple, for a while. Then Kenny was there again, and Naito vanished off to Mexico. He came back Ungovernable, and surrounded himself with new friends. Life moved on.

 

* * *

 

 

   Naito has his hair up and had been obviously reading a book when Kota knocks on his hotel room door. He slides his glasses down his nose but invites Kota in nonetheless.

They’re staying at the same hotel in Osaka, most of the roster is. After signing, Kota has realised how much easier certain things have become.Like booking hotel rooms. Kota notices Bushi, lounging on the other bed with his legs crossed at the ankle. He’s not wearing his mask, and Kota averts his eyes. Of course he’s seen Bushi without his mask before, in the locker rooms and back stage, but it never stops feeling like an invasion of privacy. It’s easier to look away. He doesn’t think about Bushi’s unpainted lips, or the way his dyed, blonde hair curls around his cheekbones. None of that is for him to know.

Naito however, exchanges one look with his teammate, and Bushi merely raises his eyebrows before collecting his cellphone, a hat, and a tacky designer bag that looks heavier than Kota's entire gym bag. He claps Naito’s shoulder in passing as he shuffles out of the door, and winks at Kota before he shuts the door behind him.

 

“Why are you here?” Naito asks. He sounds like he knows the answer already. Kota notices that the book he’s reading is Spanish grammar. Ever so dutiful, Naito is.

 

“Why do you think?”

They’re not really friends, not anymore. There’s very few things to really talk about between them. Unless it’s about matches and preparing for them, but it’s getting late.

Naito sits back on the lounger in the corner while Kota kicks off his shoes. Kota can feel he’s watching him very intently.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask… does Kenny know?”

Kota bristles at the question. He wants to tell Naito it’s none of his business, but he’s the one who has made it Naito’s business. It’s only fair.

 

“He knows. He’s in America-“

 

“So you need someone else to warm your bed. Thank you for the honour,” Naito finishes for him, and tips a hat he’s not wearing. He’s looking at Kota expectantly. Something about the look makes Kota feel a little hot under his collar, and he coughs awkwardly, swinging his arms a little in a ‘well, here i am’-kind of motion.

 

“Would you like to go out for a beer first? I heard the hotel bar is good-”

Naito shuts him up with a raised hand.

 

“Not in the mood to drink. Just take off your shirt.”

Kota follows suit, carefully folding his brand tee now that he doesn’t have to hurl it into a crowd. Something about Naito’s almost uncaring tone makes him feel chastised, like Naito’s merely doing a favour for him.

Naito doesn’t kiss. Sometimes Kota misses it, the intimacy it brings. But he understands - this is not the kind of relationship where Kota’s allowed any closer than this. He knows he could get anyone, pick and choose from a line of men and women ready to do anything for his attention, but it doesn’t work like that.

 

“Do you have lube?” Kota asks, but he already knows the answer. He asks it anyway. Naito merely looks at him, so Kota drops his gym bag on the bed that isn’t Bushi’s, and starts rummaging.

 

“You brought the belt. “

 

“Yeah, I haven’t been to my room yet,” Kota explains. He's also got his ring-gear with him, and a couple of protein bars the company served backstage. Not that it matters much. 

 

“Eager, huh. Well, let’s see it then. “

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me. Put it on, champ. “

 

From the side pocket of his gym bag he pulls out a small travel-sized bottle of lubricant and some condoms he had bought at a gas station. Ishikari had been in the queue after him. He tries to not think of him and his sharp eyes, or just how much he will no doubt be a topic of gossip at Suzuki-gun's weekly pub banquet, and instead focuses back on Naito. Naito's watching him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, the exact same way he does in the ring. The thought makes something spark inside Kota, and he pulls the belt out.

Naito’s eyes immediately fixate on it. The yellow light of the room gleams in the gold plating of the belt as Kota turns it in his hands. It's pretty, but Naito looks at it like a cat who spotted a canary. 

Something about the knowledge makes blood thrum warm in Kota’s system, knowing that he has something Naito desperately wants, even if it’s just a belt.

Putting it on by himself is challenging, and Naito is not heartless. His calloused hands are warm and dry against Kota’s skin, his knuckles gracing his lower back as he buttons the belt up, as tight as it goes on Kota’s narrow waist. His hands do not leave him however, but skim lower, thumbs hooking under the waistband of Kota’s jeans. When he leans in closer, Kota shivers.

 

“Lose these,” Naito murmurs, but stays pressed against Kota’s back.

His arms snake around Kota’s waist, but he only touches the belt. He doesn’t move when Kota unbuttons his jeans and shimmies out of them with Naito’s help. The edge of the belt digs into his hip, and the studs that keep the plating in place still feel cold against his skin. Naito hums, content, and lets his hands drop lower. Kota’s half hard already, and he eagerly bucks into the inviting touch. Naito presses himself flush against the curve of Kota’s ass, grinds his hips once, twice. There’s too much fabric between them. Kota presses back, and sighs. If he closes his eyes, it could be Kenny. Except Kenny is bulkier, And has an easy laugh, hands rough with different callouses. Naito doesn’t laugh. Kota drags his boxers down, and Naito’s hand returns, cupping his growing erection before giving him a few tugs. The slow drag of warm, dry skin against him leaves Kota breathing heavy.

Naito guides them forward until Kota's knees meet the edge of the bed.

With a little maneuvering, Kota finds himself on all fours, forehead almost touching the mattress. The sound of the bottle cap snapping open is loud in the quiet room. Kota holds his breath, waits for Naito’s hands to touch him again.

He’s getting harder, just from the anticipation. It’s awful, really. There’s a buzz under his skin that he wants to itch, an urge to move, to fuck, to forget that it’s him with his dick hard and arse up for Naito, of all people. But Naito revels in it, the unbearable slowness, the stillness of the moment. He’s drowning Kota in his own, racing thoughts until he’s skittery and irritated.

Finally, after an eternity, Naito slides two lube-wet fingers into him. There’s no grand gestures, no questions beforehand, they both know he can take it. It still makes him grunt softly as he tries to get used to the feeling, and then Naito’s leaning against him, body warm above Kota’s. He’s still wearing his jeans, the texture rough against Kota’s bare skin.

Kota pushes back against Naito’s hand. Naito curls his fingers, ever so slowly finding what he’s looking for, that bundle of nerves that make Kota’s mouth fall open and his head fall back down against the comforter. He bites his own bicep to suppress whatever embarrassing noise he would have let out otherwise. Naito keeps pressure on that spot until he has Kota shivering under him, grinding himself back on Naito’s hand. Naito seems satisfied to let him do all the work for him. It hasn’t even been ten minutes and Kota’s close already. He reminds himself that Naito’s still dressed and composed, Kota can feel the metal buttons digging into the soft flesh off his buttock. He can also feel that Naito’s hard, despite being so calm and collected.  

 

“Naito.” Kota says. Pleads, almost.  

 

Naito hums, spreads his fingers before pulling them out. It’s intense.

 

“Nait- _ohh_ ,” Naito’s name breaks into a moan  as Naito lets him have the fingers again, the stretch of a third one delicious but very present. Kota’s trying to sound commanding, but even to his own ears all he sounds is wanton. Needy.

 

“Please, Naito. “

 

“What more do you want? You have everything, mister Intercontinental.” Naito rolls his hips, grinds his dick to get some contact. Kota pushes back and tries not to keen. They both know Naito wants him to say it.

 

“Fuck me. _Please_. I need you to fuck me… _Naito-san,_ ” Naito’s breath hitches at the last syllable, and Kota files away this new knowledge to be examined later. Unexpected, but unsurprising. He pushes back on the fingers, deliberately rubbing against the fly of Naito’s jeans. When Naito grips his hips with his free hand and fucks Kota with his fingers, fast and rough until they’re both panting, it’s less controlled and more just base need. Naito lets him breathe for a moment before pulling out, and suddenly Kota’s horribly empty again.

Every fiber in his body hates it. He needs—

He hears the button pop and for a moment, Naito fumbles with the condom wrapper. And then Naito groans unabashedly as he touches himself.

Finally.

Kota’s still wet from the fingers, his ignored cock hot and heavy between his thighs, but Naito is nothing if not a careful lover, despite trying to act nonchalant. Kota’s unsure how he feels about it, Naito’s reluctance to admit he’s into it, yet treating Kota like he’s still a virgin, as if he hasn’t fucked his way through half of the DDT roster before Naito even considered men as an option.

 

In a way, Kota appreciates it.

 

There’s a new dollop of lube that Naito works around his rim and into him, and then, finally, he pushes in. The sound that leaves Kota is throaty and loud, and he has to bite his bicep again to silence himself. After all, they’re not the only ones in this hotel.

Naito keeps sliding his hips forward until his hips are flush with Kota’s. Then he thrusts, and Kota moans again, a wordless plea.

He sets a slow pace, too slow for Kota. He wants Naito to fuck him through the mattress, make him forget about his aching heart.

 

“Faster,” Kota tells him.

 

Naito stops moving entirely.

 

“ _Fuck_ you,” Kota breathes, and bucks his hips up to meet friction. Naito’s grip will leave bruises come tomorrow. Bastard.

 

“I am.”  

Naito’s hands are stable on his hips, stalling him from fucking himself on Naito’s cock. It’s clear, Naito wants to set the pace. Right now, he refuses to move altogether, mainly to frustrate Kota. It's bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. The reason why Kota is in here in the first place, is because he doesn't want to be alone in his hotel room, left alone with his thoughts. He needs Naito to stop his thoughts from racing. He needs Naito to get on with it already. 

 

”Did you let Goto fuck you too ? For the belt. Or is it intercontinental only?”

 What. 

 

“Why do you care if I did?” Kota tries, enunciating every syllable to his best coherence. He's confused and irritated, and it's not a combination of emotions he's here to feel. 

 

Naito slaps his ass. It stings, and Kota hisses out a soft curse under his breath. Naito slaps him again, just for the sake of it. Kota suppresses a moan. Oh. 

 

“Ibushi-san,” Naito reprimands him. It’s even worse, in a way. It makes his cock twitch on its own accord, and Kota shoves his hand between his legs. Naito clicks his tongue at him and pries his hand away, pins it safely under one of his own as he pulls it back behind Kota’s back.

 

“He has a wife. He has children. And you would  offer him this?”

 

They both know it’s not true. Kenny had still been in Japan, when he won the belt. It doesn’t matter.

Naito slaps his ass a third time, and this time Kota moans, loud. Pleasure bursts up his spine in the aftershock of pain. It's good, and he wants Naito's hand again. He gets it, and moans again, buries his face into the mattress to keep himself from being too loud.  His dick bobs against the belt plate. It sends a spark through him, his hot, burning skin touching cold metal. He tries not to think how it will stain. Naito delivers a few more slaps, the flat of his palm striking sharp and delicious until Kota's skin is blooming red from the impact. 

 

His body is glowing, he's on fire. The only thing that exists in the world is the space between him and Naito, and the pleasure-pain of the moment.

 

Naito finally fucks into him, slow and thorough.

 

“Not my fault if he wants it.” Kota finally recalls that he still ought to answer, gasping through words. If he's bratty enough, would Naito finally stop being so frustratingly calm? 

 

“Kenny ought to keep you on a leash,” Naito mutters. Kota actually growls at him, not trying to hide the anger that the words spark, but then Naito is fucking him in earnest and he lets it slide, instead focusing on the slip-and-slide of Naito’s thighs brushing against the backs of his legs. The faint dusting of hair on Naito’s legs feels soft, unlike Kenny’s coarse hair. There’s a lot of things that are different, with Naito and Kenny. There’s something almost clinical in the way Naito fucks him, taking him apart slow and steady until Kota’s thighs are trembling and there’s a wet spot of precome puddling under them, Naito still refusing to touch Kota’s dick. It’s driving him up the wall, and Naito knows it.

 

“Turn around,” he tells and pulls out, and Kota can’t help but whine at the loss. He does, however, obey Naito. A small part of him hates it, to give in so easily and follow Naito’s whims, but mostly he just wants to get back to fucking.

 

“ _Good boy_ ,” Naito’s hands are gentle as he brings his hand to Kota’s waist, skimming over muscle and tendon until he reaches the edge of the white belt. Kota growls at him, at the praise, at Naito touching his belt.

 

“You look pretty like this.”

 

“Shut up and get back to it.” He doesn’t want to think about how the words make his cheeks hot, something pleasant uncoiling inside him at the praise. The look in Naito’s eyes says he knows it too.

 

“Fine.”  

  There's no trace of the same Naito from moments ago, now that they're face to face. It's... too intimate, for play-pretend. It's strange, for all the wrong reasons. Neither of them really looks at each other. Kota closes his eyes, then opens them again to instead look at the ceiling. He could be anywhere. Naito lets his hand drop right where Kota needs it, palming the underside of his dick and pressing it against the belt. Kota can feel the world map etched into the plating, the slight edges of it brushing against sensitive skin. Naito gives him a few tugs of his hand, fingernail pressing gently into his slit. Kota gasps and shudders, and Naito does it again.

 

“Fuck me,” he manages, and grabs his legs around Naito’s waist, easy strength pulling him closer. It’s almost like wrestling, and Naito follows his cue.

 

“Bossy. We’re not in a hurry.”

 

“Please. Naito- _san_.” Kota can’t look him in the eye, so he looks at Bushi’s empty bed instead.

 

“There we go.That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Naito sounds smug.

 

But despite his grumbling, Naito seems eager to slide back to the heat between Kota’s legs, slowly entering him once more. This time they both moan. Naito’s hand is still on Kota’s cock, holding it just a little too tight for comfort.  

 

“I want you to come on the belt.” Naito tells him, voice strained to keep its composure. His hair is falling into his eyes, dry, thatched and irregular. Kota’s always wanted to ask about it, how much of it is a conscious decision and how much is just… Naito. He focuses on Naito’s words instead, feels how his ears are burning. Naito wants him to disgrace the belt.

Why did he agree to this, again?

 

The thought flees him when Naito thrusts into him, all the way to the hilt, and God, it feels like Naito’s splitting him apart. It’s. A lot. Kota scrunches his eyes closed again.

 

He thinks about Kenny, about old conversations, how good he had looked with the IWGP heavy-belt on and nothing else, how irresistible. It had been terrible, to try to kiss when he was wearing the belt and bending Kota in half. Constantly in the way, the most prestigious of all belts. It had been fun, to try and figure out the most comfortable way to make love, all the while Kenny had remained the Champion. They had to scrub it down, after. It had been stupid, but the rush of excitement, knowing they were doing something incredibly ludicrous, had been worth it. 

He thinks about Kenny’s mouth, curling into a shy, sweet smile, or wrapped around Kota’s dick, lips stretching deliciously. He thinks about Kenny’s mouth, murmuring “I love you”s into his skin, scruffy beard scratching his skin, clever hand twisting just so as he wrenches Kota’s orgasm from him, hand ungentle until Kota’s stopped shivering, his body clenching around Kenny until they’re both spent and boneless. 

Naito collapses on top of him, and his shabby hair tickles Kota’s nose. The belt digs into Kota’s rib. He doesn't bother opening his eyes. Not yet.

 

“You should call him,” Naito mumbles into a space above Kota’s shoulder, muffled against the mattress.

 

For a while, it’s quiet in the room, only the loud rush of blood in Kota’s ears, the steady beat of Naito’s heart. Kota looks at the ceiling. It’s a nondescript white, it could be the ceiling of any of the countless hotel rooms he’s ever been in. He should call Kenny.

When Naito pulls out of him and stands up to dispose of the condom, it feels indescribably cold in the room. Lonely. He should call.

Naito returns with a washcloth, another colourless white that could be from countless locations but it’s from here. Naito’s gentle with him, again treating him like he’s some fragile flower. It makes Kota’s skin prickle, the familiar thrum of irritation return somewhere behind his temples.

Naito chuckles, softly. It snaps Kota’s attention back to the hotel room. Nondescript, anywhere, but actually here.

 

“Now it’s truly a white belt,” Naito laughs at his own joke. Kota makes a face, but looks down. Naito’s right, the white-and-gold belt is now streaked with his come, seeping into the etched details. He groans. It’s going to take some time to clean it up. Naito pats a clean plate, still chuckling to himself.

When he sobers up, his eyes turn sad but determined as he focuses back on Kota.

 

“He’s not gonna stay forever, you know that? Go call him.”  He shifts his weight to his knees, focuses on buttoning his jeans back up. Gives Kota the room to stare at the ceiling again. Kota closes his eyes, wills himself to not tear up. He knows.

 

* * *

 

Kenny answers on the third ring. 

 

“Hey, Kenny.” 

 

“ _Bu-san!_ It’s what, three a.m in Japan? Why aren’t you asleep?” Kenny’s voice is staticky. But it’s him, on Kota's phone screen. He’s wearing his jean shorts, the old ones that cut off right above his knee. Kota would never wear them, but he loves that Kenny loves them. The video chat is grainy. The ceiling behind Kenny is a nondescript colour of a hotel room. They're the same colour both in Japan and America. 

 

“I’m washing a belt.” He points his phone camera at the intercontinental, lying on his small hotel bathroom floor, a hotel toothbrush and some soap lying next to it. His gym shorts are damp at the knees. 

 

Kenny’s laughter carries clear across the ocean. Something warm blooms in Kota’s chest, precious and wonderful. They could be anywhere, but they’re here, right now, and that’s what matters. 

 

"So, _Bu-san._ Tell me everything."

 

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. How come my first-ever fic isn't even GL-centric? We just don't know. Takes place some time before Dominion 6.9 2019.
> 
> P.P.S Love you Bushi but Chrome Hearts is tacky and that’s an indisputable fact. 
> 
> P.P.P.S. Unbeta’ed, which was probably obvious. Not a native speaker, so there’s probably some dumb mistakes that have gone unnoticed, soz about those. Edited a couple of typos.


End file.
